Running With Wolves
by Harlequin Ravenwing
Summary: After being forced to flee her home, a young Breton spellsword finds herself in the company of the Companions of Jorrvaskr in the cold, harsh lands of Skyrim. However when secrets are revealed to her about the true nature of those she calls shield-brother and sister, change becomes inevitable, but can a dragon truly live among wolves?
1. Jorrvaskr

JORRVASKR

The uproar that could be heard coming from the mead hall of Jorrvaskr left no doubt in the minds of the citizens of Whiterun that the members of the Companions warriors' guild were celebrating tonight!

Inside the old wooden building, the sounds of raucous laughter and voices raised in song seemed to shake the very foundations of the walls, and the thick smoke that was carried high above the grand feasting table by the heated air from the central firepit, was heady with the aromas of spiced potatoes and freshly baked bread. Fish and fowl alike was smoked, steamed or simply tossed into the flames until their blackened surfaces blistered and cracked to reveal the succulent, tender flesh beneath. Roasting goat added yet another layer of delicious odour to the mix, and as if that wasn't enough, the tempting scent from the whole side of venison that was being rotated slowly on the cooking spit, was enough to make the mouth water in eager anticipation as the meaty juices dropped onto the hot coals below, sizzling and spitting like two Khajit wives fighting over a lover. Mead was flowing plentifully in the great hall too, from the sweet honeyed brews so favoured by all Nords to the fruitier ales that were produced by dunmer. For those unaccustomed to such strong drink, there were bottles of rich, spiced Imperial wine that warmed the insides as much as the flames of the firepit warmed the outsides!

Anything and everything a man could want for his sustenance was laid before the assembled guests in quantities that would not look out of place on the table of a High King, and for that Farkas of the Companions was truly grateful.

"Enjoying the feast, Vilkas?" He asked his brother with a grin, biting into a leg of mutton and feeling hot grease running down his chin.

"Of course!" Vilkas replied, savagely tearing into a capon that had been flavoured with sage and thyme. "It is in part thanks to you that we dine so well tonight. Is it not?"

"I did nothing that was not expected of me, brother." Farkas shrugged, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Besides, my shield-sisters were with me all the way. Isn't that right, Ria?"

The newest member of the Companions sat next to his twin nodded vigorously as she poured herself a goblet of wine. "True enough, though when I saw that giant attacking Pelagia's farm, I was glad you were with us, Farkas! Your strength gave us a welcome advantage in the battle!"

"Farkas' strength is like that of Ysgramor himself!" Vilkas agreed, raising a foamy tankard of ale in salute. "But do not discount your own efforts, Ria! Your trainer is proud of you."

Farkas chuckled softly to himself as Ria blushed under his twin's high praise. The pretty Imperial warrior had been out with Vilkas often lately, and he knew his brother well enough to know that he was interested in the girl. Whether or not Vilkas would ever do anything about it though, was another matter entirely. Although physically they looked almost identical, Farkas was as different to Vilkas as night was to day. Maybe it was because Vilkas was smarter and thought about things a lot more deeply than his twin. It meant there was a seriousness to Vilkas that Farkas just didn't understand sometimes. Whereas he would not think twice about bedding a tavern wench if she was willing, Vilkas would be more cautious and seemed almost shy around women. As for Ria, if her scent was anything to go by, she wanted Vilkas badly but when Farkas had tried speaking to him about it, his brother had just talked of his duty as the girl's trainer and his role as a member of the Circle.

That and the heavy burden of his blood…the same blood that Farkas shared.

The same blood that all members of the Circle shared.

Still, it was not an excuse to miss out on the finer pleasures that life had to offer, and Ria could certainly be one of those pleasures if only Vilkas would let go once in a while!

"Say, Ria!" Farkas began, topping up his own tankard with the best Honningbrew mead. "Why don't you tell Vilkas how you distracted the giant enough for me to deliver a killing blow?"

"You distracted it?" Vilkas asked, intrigued by the details of the battle. "How, what were you doing?"

"What we practiced the other day." Ria answered, pride swelling her chest. "I remembered what you said about larger opponents generally being slower to turn, so I darted behind the thing and drew my blade across the back of its leg, just deeply enough to bring it down to one knee. That's when Farkas came in from the side and with one mighty sweep of his sword…"

"And what of my part in this battle?" Aela the Huntress perched herself on the table top and gestured rudely with a piece of chicken. "Or did the noble Vilkas forget that he also sent me along with his littermate and his new pup?"

The tongue of the formidable archer could be as sharp as her arrows and twice as deadly, but tonight she was grinning from ear to ear and her slender body was relaxed and loose.

"You feeling left out?" Farkas joked as he handed her a tankard of mead. "Don't worry! I was getting to your part!"

"I think Vilkas is happy with the part he's got, least that's what I hear anyway!" She laughed and then winked at Ria with an eye full of mischeif. "What say you, shield-sister? Is it true that Vilkas' part is as mighty as they say?"

"Oh he has a mighty weapon indeed!" Ria answered quickly, the clever Imperial flushing even as she spoke. "Granted it's not as long as that of Farkas, or as broad as that of Skjor, but is it not Vilkas who trains us all in the proper use of such things?"

"You hear that, Aela?" Vilkas gasped, roaring with laughter as the Huntress held up her hands. "When next you bed with Skjor, be greatful that he had Vilkas for a teacher!"

"You taught me nothing, whelp!" At the mention of his name, Skjor crossed over to the group, slid a thick arm around Aela's waist and smiled wolfishly. "Aela knows well that Skjor's blade was forged long before Vilkas even left the teat!"

The Huntress chuckled at that. "And even now, he's trying to get back on it!" She said, throwing a less than subtle look toward Ria.

"And what of Farkas?" Skjor added, turning his single, coppery eye toward him. "Do the boots of Njada Stonearm still rest beneath the bed of Jorrvaskr's strongest?"

Farkas coughed and shifted uncomfortably as all eyes turned to the pale, Nord swordswoman seated at the end of the table. Though she was a full member of the Companions and one of the best defensive fighters in the guild, Njada was somewhat aloof and often held herself apart from the rest of her shield-brothers and sisters. Even Kodlak Whitemane, respected Harbinger of the Companions and most revered amongst all the warriors of Jorrvaskr, had tried to talk to her about her attitude and the contempt with which she often spoke to those around her. He'd pointed out that when she took her oath, the people who she was alienating were the very same people who had sworn to raise their swords in her defence and she did not honour them by being so cold. For a while, she seemed to have listened, warming her heart at the same time as she chose to warm Farkas' bed, but the others had said it was because he was a member of the Circle, and Njada was trying to _buy_ her way in by sleeping with him. Eventually though, she had the good sense to realise that wasn't going to happen and she soon returned to her abrupt and solitary ways.

Actually, it suited both of them better that way.

Still didn't stop her being a bitch when the opportunity presented itself…

"My boots now remain firmly attached to my feet, Skjor!" She called, a cruel sneer creeping across her face. "I may have enjoyed a little swordplay with Farkas for a while, but his weapon lacks finesse. I prefer a man who can use his blade with much more subtlety."

"Is that so?" Aela slid free of Skjor's grip and stalked accross the floor. "See Njada, I wouldn't have thought subtle was something that would appeal to you. Certainly you have never been subtle yourself when it came to expressing what you wanted and didn't want, or maybe I've just got you all wrong and deep down, you're a warm and wonderful woman…."

Njada's brown eyes hardened as the Huntress approached her but thankfully, she had more sense than to challenge Aela. Slender though she was, Aela was fast and deceptively strong and would not think twice about beating some manners into the girl just for fun.

"Sister…" Vilkas' voice rumbled in warning. Whatever his brother thought of Njada, she was still one of the newer members of the Companions and he felt responsible for her.

"Oh don't worry." Aela sighed, turning slowly on her heel and walking back. "I don't intend to start a brawl tonight, and besides I think that Farkas is already looking to sheathe his blade elsewhere…"

Farkas looked up warily and furrowed his brows. "What?"

Aela smoothed a hand through her hair and feigned nonchalance. "Oh, you know! That magic-user who helped us at the farm today. I saw the way you looked at her!"

"A magic-user?" Vilkas echoed in surprise. To him, just like Farkas and most Nords, magic was a thing to be feared and reviled at worst, barely tolerated at best.

"Don't worry, brother." Farkas said reassuringly. "It's not what you think. Sometime during the fight, the blasted giant had knocked me to the ground and then this woman appeared, sword in one hand, magical flames in the other. She used her magic to blind the thing while I got to my feet."

"You never mentioned anything about this before." Vilkas stated, frowning accusatively. "Just who was this woman? Was she from Whiterun?"

"Don't think so, at least I've never seen her before." Farkas answered honestly. "She was shorter than Aela here and well, curvier all over if you know what I mean." He grinned at that. "Her hair was kind of red, but dark and she had eyes like stone, cold and grey…"

"You actually noticed her eyes?" Aela laughed. "I'm impressed! I didn't think you'd get past her swaying hips and ample bosom!"

"I noticed a lot of stuff." Farkas growled.

"And did you speak to her?" Vilkas pressed, as concerned as he was intrigued. "Was she from the college at Winterhold, or maybe some rogue wizard in the service of the Thalmor sent to root out Talos worshippers?"

"By Hircine's wild hunt, Vilkas!" Aela exclaimed, exasperation adding volume to her voice. "The woman was no servant of the Thalmor! I think she was a Breton from the way she spoke, and I got the distinct impression she was running away from something."

"And yet she stopped to assist you." All attention was suddenly pulled to the great, snow-haired warrior that assumed a place at the head of the table. "Magic-user or not, it takes great courage to face a giant, and I regret that we did not get the chance to show this woman our hospitality."

"Harbinger." Vilkas greeted the warrior with customary defference and offered him a full tankard of mead. "We are honoured by your presence, Kodlak Whitemane!"

"Is a warrior's place not beside his brothers and sisters?" Kodlak said loudly enough for the assembled Companions to hear. "And I should not wish to miss the celebrations as the Mead Hall of Jorrvaskr is like Sovngarde itself come to Tamriel tonight!"

Enthusiastic cheers echoed round the hall, and overflowing mugs of ale were banged together loudly in salute. It was good to see the old man looking free of worry for once, and happy to take his place at the feasting table. Too often of late would Kodlak stay in his room, pouring over ancient texts or talking to Vilkas about things that neither of them were willing to discuss with the others. It just seemed to Farkas that ever since Kodlak has asked them all not to be so eager to surrender to the call of the blood, he'd gotten _older_. Where once he was vigourous, a fierce fighter and a brilliant strategist, now he seemed tired and frail, hiding his condition beneath his armour as surely as he hid his unhappiness beneath his smiles.

It was hard to see him that way.

Harder still to know that there was nothing to be done to help him.

"You're not eating, Farkas?" Kodlak asked, disturbing him from his thoughts and pointing to the mutton in his hands. "That's not like you."

"I fear poor Farkas is thinking of other delights!" Aela joked, making the shape of a woman in the air with her hands.

"Ah yes!" Kodlak said with a grin. "The woman, of course! Tell me, did she at least have a name?"

"Sorry Kodlak, I didn't think to ask." Farkas looked rather sheepishly at Aela. "Did she tell you?"

"Actually yes." Aela didn't bother to hide the smug expression on her face. "She said her name was Lenna and that she was on her way to see the Jarl. Apparently she'd travelled up from Riverwood."

"Riverwood you say?" Kodlak began to absent-mindedly stroke his beard. "By Ysgramor's mighty axe…she must have been the one who told the Jarl about the dragon."

"Dragon!" This time it was Farkas' turn to laugh. "There are no dragons in Skyrim!"

"Tell that to the survivors of the attack on Helgen." Kodlak said sombrely, a look of reproof in his troubled eyes. "Before this woman presented herself before the Jarl, it was said that on the day Ulfric Stormcloak was due to meet his death at the hands of the Imperial executioner, Talos himself sent down a great dragon to destroy his enemies and carry Ulfric away to safety."

Aela snorted in disbeleif. "Forgive me, but that sounds like a children's story. The Stormcloaks must be getting desperate to make up such nonsense."

Kodlak sighed like a patient father explaining something to a particularly difficult child. "And yet, Helgen is destroyed and Ulfric is safely back in Windhelm. This story has a ring of truth about it, does it not?"

"But dragons?" Farkas shook his head and shrugged. "That's just the kind of crazy talk you'd expect from a wizard…no matter how pretty she was."

"It was more than talk." Kodlak said with certainty. "That Talos sent down a dragon and it carried Ulfric away to safety, yes, that is as Aela's says nothing more than _a children's story_. However, it is true that there was a dragon sighted in the skies over Helgen and it did reduce the town to nothing but rubble and ashes. Almost all the townsfolk and the Imperial soldiers garrisoned there were killed, except for a few survivors most of whom made their way to Riverwood along with this woman, this magic-user." He breathed in deeply and steepled his fingers. "And now she is here, asking the Jarl to send men to Riverwood in case the dragon attacks again."

"But how can he trust the word of this stranger?" Vilkas asked, struggling to believe Kodlak's words.

"Jarl Balgruff is no fool." The old man answered. "There have already been other sightings of this dragon. From whispered tales told by frightened traders to more reliable accounts from the guards in Falkreath. Then this woman shows up, apparently a survivor of the attack and she confirms the truth of it all. Once more, there are dragons in the skies over Skyrim."

"And in fleeing a dragon, this woman runs all the way from Helgen to Whiterun and ends up joining us as we battle against a giant?" Aela grabbed a tankard of ale and drank deeply before speaking again. "Fate does not favour her well it seems!"

"Or maybe it is fate that brought her to us..." Kodlak muttered under his breath, but if anyone else noticed then Farkas couldn't tell.

A drunken brawl between Athis the Dunmer and Torvar the drunkard seemed to have erupted over the contents of a wine bottle, and most of the other Companions had stopped to watch, clapping, cheering and wagering gold on the outcome. Aela and Skjor used the distraction to slope off together, probably headed out into the night and as for Vilkas, well he was sat brooding, no doubt unsettled by the talk of magic and dragons. Kodlak himself seemed lost in thought, his eyes looking far beyond the walls Jorrvaskr and into a place only he could see and despite the heat from the firepit before him, a sudden chill seemed to have settled over the mead hall.

Feeling suddenly restless and in need of a change of scenery, Farkas took his leave of his brother and slowly made his way down to the living quarters. Tonight had become one of those nights when he longed to run naked through the forests and indulge his bestial nature just to clear his head of everything except for the chase and the kill, but he had made a promise to Kodlak and honour demanded that he keep it. Instead, he grabbed a few bottles of Honningbrew mead from the store by his bed and flopped down onto the straw mattress with a groan.

A wise man had once said that the answers to life's questions could not be found in a bottle, and that alcohol would only fuddle a man's wits.

But then again Farkas had never been known to be a wise man and had always been told he lacked wits, so with any luck he could drink enough to bring on a deep enough sleep that even his dreams would not disturb him, no matter how vivid.

It was certainly worth trying anyhow.

* * *

There was a gentle beauty to the way the soft flakes of snow drifted idly past the window of the rented room in the Bannered Mare and as she watched them floating by, Eleanore Marielle Drake felt an almost child-like pleasure welling up within her. There was something so pure and so innocent about the intricate display that it made her feel safe and comforted for the first time in what seemed like an age, and it was quite reluctantly that she turned away from the window to settle down upon the thick, straw mattress that the Nords seemed to favour in this part of Skyrim. Although the bed was rather rustic, it was certainly comfortable. The thick furs that covered the base provided a gentle barrier between tender skin and coarse straw, and the heavy wooden blankets, _provided at no extra cost_, were soft and snug. Heat from the central fire in the common room below, drifted up through the wooden flooring and lent the room a cosy warmth that made it all the more difficult to stay awake.

Not that staying awake was going to be much of a problem.

Sighing contentedly, Eleanore or Lenna as she was more often called, smiled to herself and closed her eyes. At first, she thought she would be asleep within moments, comfort and exhaustion combining to rob her of her will, but then her mind was assaulted by a sudden onrush of memory as sounds and images of recent events flashed through her head depriving her of much needed rest.

She had been like this ever since she had been forced to leave her deceptively comfortable life as an apprentice in the Wizards College in Wayrest. In fact, from the very moment she had fled High Rock to the day she arrived in Skyrim, Lenna's life had assumed a somewhat chaotic nature. After spending what meagre amount of coin she had been able to grab on back-street inns and lesser-known taverns, she had been forced to spend her first night under the stars. She could still recall it with alarming clarity. Jumping at the myriad of unusual sounds, shivvering as the temperature dropped to levels that were barely tolerable and turning at every snapped branch in case it was a bandit come to take her life...or worse. Inexperience and ignorance had conspired to make her feel nothing but terror and when the dawn finally did come, she resolved to never be in that position again.

Naturally, it was a ridiculous resolution.

The next night she again found herself outdoors and without shelter and barely slept due to the cold and fear of the unknown, but the night after that when the warning signs of dusk began to show themselves in scarlet glory across the vast open skies, she had found a cave to sleep in and let unconciousness carry her into a state of careless oblivion. Of course now she would never do such a reckless thing, as there could be bears, outlaws or even the undead to contend with, but back then the cave had been her small haven against the ills of the world, and so she had slept as if death itself had come for her.

So her life had continued for a time, with hunger and tiredness her most constant of companions. She knew enough of herb lore to be able to forage from the land, and every now and then would come across the carcass of a deer where the meat hadn't been completely stripped from the bones by whatever predator had brought it down. Her magic ensured that she was able to deal with most non-human threats and when the magical flames failed, she could always fall back on her martial skills. Her swordplay was in no way as good as that of say, a more seasoned warrior, but she knew enough to be able to defend herself if need be...although the pitted iron sword she had taken from the half-eaten body of a less than lucky hunter was not likely to last much longer.

As she travelled westward, she had shied away from the farms and settlements she came across, as she was fearful that at any point her past would catch up with her. Every time she saw a guard walking along the interlacing highways and byways of Skyrim, her heart had leapt into her mouth and a cold feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. A few times, she'd had to run and hide when she spotted the dark, black robes of a Thalmor Justicar and his gilded altmer bodygurds. The last Altmer she had seen been lying on the floor of her room in the college tower with blood pooling about the corner of his lips as he gasped his last breath. She doubted very much that his compatriots would be prepared to hear her side of the story and thus, it was simply best to avoid them altogether.

Actually, it was just better to avoid all male contact if she could help it.

Instinct and experience told her that no matter how honeyed their words, even the most seemingly friendly of men sought only to disguise their baser instincts and to take what they wanted, no matter if she was willing to give of herself or not. And so she had walked alone until the winding road led her to the snowy peaks of the Reach Mountains, and the ancient dwarven city of Markarth.

It was then that things had taken an unexpected turn.

Although Markarth itself was as alien to a Breton lass fallen on hard times as the rest of Skyrim, it was there she had found a kindred spirit in one of the feline inhabitants of Elsweyr. Just outside the city, camped on a flat peice of ground beside a free flowing stream, was a Khajit caravan. They were trading their wares with the local Nord inhabitants, trinkets mainly and some weapons and armour, but the thing that made Lenna stop dead in her tracks was the scent of stewed meat coming from the cast-iron pot beside the campfire.

Thinking only with her stomach, she had approached from behind the camp, sticking to the shadows to remain unseen. All she could think of was her hunger and that pot of stew, and whether it was madness or impulse that guided her actions, she was determined to take it from the Khajit and claim it as her own. Oh, she had thought she was so clever, so stealthy and so lucky as she reached out with her sword blade to hook the handle of the pot...right up until the time a heavy weight landed on her back and the kiss of cold steel played about her throat.

That was how she had met Kharjo.

The young male Khajit appeared to be smiling, amused by her rather amatuer efforts and not as angry as she would have thought. With a shake of his feline head, he had hauled her to her feet and then led her into the large tent that housed the Khajit's supplies. He had left her there alone, apparently unconcerned that she would try to take something else, and then spoke to an elderly female Khajit with fur as black as night. Then, after a few moments of intense discussion, the female Khajit had come into the tent and sat down oppsite Lenna with a curious look on her face.

With a twitch of her whiskers, she introduced herself as Akhari, a Khajit elder from the great trading houses of Elsweyr. She had also said that since the city guards were no friend to the Khajit, what punishment did Lenna think would befit her crime. Lenna had simply shrugged, shame burning in her cheeks and taken aback by the Khajit's relaxed manner. Eventually she had hung her head low and said that the Redguards of Hammerfell removed the hands of thieves, and the Nords imprisoned them in dingy cells. Neither option was particularly appealing. Akhari had laughed at that and said only those foolish enough to be caught suffered such fates. When Lenna pointed out that she _had _been caught by the young Khajit with the grey fur, Akhari had chuckled again and said that '_Kharjo did not catch a thief, merely a hungry fool as afraid of her own kind as she was of what would happen next.'_

Just then, Kharjo once more appeared inside the tent and instead of carrying a blade, he was carrying a bowl of that delicious stew. With a smile that revealed his long canine teeth, he handed Lenna the bowl and a spoon and then sat cross-legged beside Akahri. At first Lenna had looked at it somewhat suspiciously, wary of this unusual generosity until the elder Khajit told her to eat. Confusion quickly gave way to need and after tasting one glorious mouthful, Lenna quickly devoured the entire bowl.

Afterwards, she had an idea. Carefully sliding her sword from the belt about her waist, she laid it before the two Khajit and then offered to serve as a caravan guard in return for more of their delicious food and a place by their fire as they travelled thruought Skyrim. Kharjo had laughed at that, showing her his own gleaming steel blade and explaining that they already had two guards, although Dro'marash was currently bartering with the local blacksmith for better armour. Then Lenna held up her hand and felt the rush of magicka running through her viens as flames danced over her skin. Laughing even more, Kharjo had happily conceded that neither he nor Dro'marash were gifted with magic and that perhaps having a spellsword along for the journey was a good idea. Akhari had quickly agreed and suddenly Lenna felt as if that had been the elderly Khajit's plan all along. Especially if the knowing smile on her face was anything to go by...

And so it was that for a time, she was regarded as a member of Akhari's caravan.

Those days that were not spent travelling, Lenna found herself practicing swordplay with Kharjo, or his brother-in-arms, lynx-like Dro'marash. Akhari showed her how to read people, to gauge their reactions and get the best price for the items they wanted, and to flatter or intimidate when the occasion required. Zaynabi, the slender female with tabby markings that looked after the caravan's accounts, instructed her in the basics of lock-picking just in case she ever found herself trapped in a dungeon...or needed to reclaim property from a strongbox...all above board, naturally...ahem.

But it was really with Kharjo that she spent most of her time. With his soft grey fur and dancing green eyes full of mirth, he was easily the most handsome Khajit Lenna had ever seen and yet, his struggles to woo the stern Zaynabi were frequently the subject of their nightly discussions. Not that Lenna was able to offer much in the way of advice. Her own expereince of the opposite sex was rather limited and somewhat...complicated. Kharjo had once asked her about it, but after seeing how pale she became when she tried to answer, he quickly changed the subject and instead told her of his home in Elsweyr and the many wonders of the land he hoped one day to show her. He spoke of sprawling jungles, and sandy plains, magnificent cities and tented settlements. It was a place of heat and warmth, bathed in the golden glow of the rising sun and scented with the spices of a thousand cooking fires and hopefully in the none too distant future, he would take her there and she would know exactly what it was like to live amongst the Khajit.

Alas, that day would never come to pass. A chance encounter on the road to Helgen saw to that.

It happened while the caravan was travelling south, headed toward Falkreath. Lenna had been scouting up ahead searching for signs of bandit activity, when she saw a large group of riders racing towards her at break-neck speeds. Quickly rushing back to the caravan, she shouted for Kharjo to clear the other Khajit from the road to allow the riders to pass safely, but then an unearthly scream made her look up sharply. One of the horses had stumbled on the uneven cobbles, messily breaking its foreleg in the process, and its rider lay unmoving in the dirt where he had been thrown. A second rider had to pull hard on the reins of his horse to prevent from charging into the first animal, which was now thrashing about wildly, and he too fell from his mount as the horse reared and panicked at the scent of blood. The rest of the riders came quickly to a halt and gathered around their fallen comrades. They were Nords, each and every one of them.

Thinking only of the wounded men and the terrified, agonised horse, Lenna quickly rushed forward despite Kharjo's cries of protest, and then dropped down beside the first man who was still unmoving and as pale as milk. One look at the blood-soaked road beneath his head was enough to tell her that he had been seriously injured, and when she cradled his head, the wetness on her fingertips confrimed that his scalp had been laid open by the hard cobbles when he fell. Though she had never excelled in healing magic, she had at least known enough to be able to close the man's wounds and hopefully prevent any further injury from blood loss. Next she moved on to the horse and felt hot tears spring to her eyes as she realised that there was nothing she could do but try to soothe the animal. Silently, she pulled her slender, iron dagger from the sheath in her boot and drew it accross the horse's throat as she whispered words of comfort that she knew the animal would never understand.

Then the world turned upside-down.

More racing hooves drummed along the cobbles and a second group of riders appeared, clad in the dark leathers of the Imperial army. All around her, the Nords sprang into action, each drawing a sword or battle-axe and preparing to meet the Imperials head-on. Still thinking of the wounded men laying in the road, Lenna called out for calm, but her words were lost to the battle cries of the Nord warriors towering above her. When the two forces met, the clash of swords was almost deafening. Steel-shod horses and armoured men trampled the ground to mud as blades crashed against shields and bit into flesh. Angry words and vicious insults flew through the air as opponents lashed out at one another, heedless of either Lenna or the wounded men still lying on the ground.

Then she was being pulled back, sharp claws digging into her shoulders as Kharjo appeared at her side. His eyes were wide with alarm and he was shouting, pointing to the long grass behind her and urging her to move as he knocked aside the blades of Nord and Imperial alike with his heavy steel shield.

Fearing for the life of her friend, common sense finally won out over the paralysing shock that had rooted her to the spot amidst the chaos unfolding around her. Scrambling to her feet, Lenna tried desperately to follow the Khajit warrior to safety when one of the Nords let out a mighty bellow, so loud and so powerful that it knocked her spawling to the ground.

It also robbed her of all consciousness…

When Lenna had finally awoken, she had been dismayed to find she was a captive of the Imperial army. Just like the Nords beside her, she was bound tightly at the wrists and had been loaded into the back of a cart on its way to the town of Helgen. One of the men tried to speak to her, telling her that his name was Ralof and that he was a true son of Skyrim. He had been captured because he openly supported the Stormcloak rebellion and had been fleeing the Imperial army along with the leader of the uprising, none other than Ulfric Stormcloak himself. At that, he had gestured to a great lion of a man that was sat at the back of the cart not only bound, but also gagged so tightly that the cloth was cutting into his cheeks.

During their travels, Akhari had often told Lenna of the brewing civil war that was threatening to tear Skyrim apart, with the Imperials on one side and the Stormcloaks on the other. However, never once had Lenna imagined that she would now be caught in the middle of such a war…and especially not caught in the company of Ulfric Stormcloak himself.

If what she heard was to be believed, Ulfric was nothing more than a bigot with delusions of grandeur. An intolerant murderer who killed the rightful High King of Skyrim and wanted nothing more than for all those not of Nord blood to be either ground down or cast out of Skyrim for no other reason than the circumstances of their birth.

From the Dunmer of Morrowind, to the marsh-dwelling Argonians, all were treated with the same scorn. Even men and women from the lands outside Skyrim were looked upon with contempt and for that reason, Ulfric Stormcloak was never going to be a man she could either respect or pledge her allegiance to.

And yet, there she was sitting by his side. An unlucky prisoner of circumstance, not conscience.

Even when the cart rolled into Helgen and the Imperial headsman called her to the block, Lenna could not help but think that Ulfric deserved his fate. It was his actions that had almost torn Skyrim apart. It was his actions that had caused her to be here now, sat in this cart with no blood in her hands. And it was his mighty shout that had laid her so low, taking from her the chance to leave with the Khajit.

Though if Ulfric's guilt was not in question, then neither was her own.

If Lenna had just stopped to think and not let her compassion get the better of her good judgement, then maybe, just maybe Kharjo and the others might have been spared being caught up in this insanity. As it was, Lenna did not know if they were alive or dead.

She could only pray that they had managed to escape and were now far away from this place.

It was the only comforting thought she had as she lay her head on the chopping block.

But then the dragon had come bringing death on black wings…

Shivvering despite the heat from the fire, Lenna sat up from her bed and crossed over to the window. It appeared that memory was determined to rob her of sleep and she sighed unhappily as she poured herself a goblet of wine from the bottle on the nearby table. Drinking deeply of the crisp, white liquid she let her gaze drift outside and noticed that it had stopped snowing. It must have happened a few hours ago as all the cloud has lifted, and she could plainly see a sheet of colour shimmering and dancing against the endless black of night. It was a beautiful display, one that she had seen often since coming to Skyrim, and she stopped to watch as it snaked its way across the heavens, casting the roofs of the buildings before her in stark silhouette.

Then her heart caught in her throat as high above the town of Whiterun, she saw the serpentine head of the dragon…

...only it was not.

Smiling with relief at her own mistake, Lenna realised that she was only seeing one of the carved wooden dragons that adorned the longship roof of Jorrvaskr. The home of warriors' guild was high atop a hill, set just before the fortress of Dragonsreach, and from where she was standing, only the twin dragons that seemed to guard the ancient mead hall were visible.

Dragons again…

Hmm.

Turning her back to the view, Lenna once more climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up about her neck. Whereas she had spent the best part of today discussing dragons with the Jarl, tomorrow she would take up the offer extended to her by the painted warrior woman who had spoken to her after she had helped to dispatch a mighty giant that was terrorising one of the local farmers. Though initially wary of the invitation to join Skyrim's warrior guild, from listening to the other patrons of the Bannered Mare, Lenna had heard enough of the Companions' deeds to convince her that perhaps the safest place to be was amongst their number.

That's if they didn't decide that a spellsword actually belonged in the Wizard's College and not amongst warriors who relied only on their steel.

They were mostly Nords after all, and Nords and magic…well, that was another problem for another day. Tonight, she simply needed to get some sleep, as no doubt she would have to prove her mettle tomorrow if she was ever going to be accepted by the Companions.

Draining the last drops of wine from her goblet, Lenna set it upon the floor and then curled into a ball and closed her eyes. With any luck, she would drift off before the first rays of sunlight crept across the wooden floor to stir her from her slumber.

And hopefully the beating wings of the dragon would finally cease inside her mind.


	2. Steel and Spell

STEEL AND SPELL

Lenna inhaled deeply to still the frantic beating of her heart as she stared at the heavy double-doors of Jorrvaskr. For the moment at least, they remained stubbornly closed. Not because of any lock or refusal of admittance, but because he simply had not yet summoned the courage to open them. From the moment her eyes fluttered open after a fitful night's rest, her only thoughts had been of gaining entry to the ancient warriors guild, and wondering just what exactly they would be expecting of her if she asked to join them.

If they were as mistrustful of magic as the rest of the Nords in Skyrim appeared to be, then she would be lucky to even get past this first hurdle, such as it was.

"Divines give me strength..." She muttered under her breath, angry at her own hesitation and aware that some of the local stall owners were now watching her curiously from the market square below. Squaring her shoulders and fixing her expression into what she hoped was one of grim determination, she finally pushed hard on the weather-beaten wood and stepped into the large hall beyond.

The first thing that hit her was the smell of food. Although the grand feasting table before her was empty of plates and trenchers, there was the lingering scent of cooked meats in the air and it caused her stomach to growl loudly with longing. As her eyes slowly accustomed to the dim light, she could make out a few scattered figures around the periphery of the hall. One of them appeared to be sleeping, if the loud snores coming from the blonde man in the corner were anything to go by, but the others had turned their eyes upon her the moment she had walked in. It was a decidedly uncomfortable sensation that left her with the distinct impression she had already been weighed and measured before she even had the chance to speak.

"Can I help you with something?" Asked a pale-skinned nordwoman with a painted face and a cruel sneer.

"Actually, yes." Lenna replied, trying not to bristle at the woman's contemptuous expression. "I have come to join the Companions, if they'll have me."

"Just like that, eh?" Another voice from behind her caused her to turn sharply. She was surprised to see a bearded dunmer dressed in toughened hides sat beside the door she had just walked through. "You don't just walk in and join the Companions, luv. If it was that easy, we'd be full to the rafters already!"

"Of more men like you, most likely!" The nordwoman snorted disdainfully, and then looked Lenna up and down. "And you, are you seriously telling me you wish to join us? You look more like tavern wench than a warrior. Hardly worthy of the Brave Companions."

"Oh, you'll find I'm more than capable." Lenna stated flatly, fighting the urge to punch the woman hard in the face. "I can show you if you like..."

"Oh really? Anytime…"

"Give it rest, Njada." The dunmer groaned, rising to his feet and interjecting himself between the two women. "It's not for you to say who is and isn't worthy, thank Azura. Why don't you go do something useful and wake Torvar before Vilkas catches him sleeping when he's supposed to be training…or is helping a man out from the goodness of your heart against your principles?"

The woman's only response was to cast the dunmer a scathing glance, before she moved off toward the slumbering man in the corner.

"Thank you." Lenna said with a polite smile, forcibly unclenching her fist to relieve the tension knotting in her shoulders. "I'm guessing this means you're the one I should be talking to?"

The dunmer laughed. "Me? No, luv. I just work here and besides, I just like to get one over on Njada bloody Strongarm once in a while. Name's Athis."

"Athis...well then, can you at least point me in the right direction? I assume somebody here is the Guildmaster?" She glanced around the room to see if anyone else was taking an interest in her conversation, but the only other occupants of the hall appeared to be an old man and an even older woman.

"Nobody calls anyone master in Jorrvaskr." Athis said with a smile. "In these halls we are all equal, shield-brothers and shield-sisters in arms...although some of us forget that once in a while."

He frowned as he watched the woman called Njada pour a flagon of cold water over the head of the sleeping man, causing him to cough and splutter in alarm.

"Saying that…" He continued with a sigh. "We do have an unofficial leader of sorts in the Old Wolf, Kodlak Whitemane."

He paused and Lenna got the distinct impression that she should have known who this man was...

"Kodlak Whitemane?" He said a little more loudly, as if that would jog her memory. "The Harbinger of the Companions? No? By the blackened gates of Oblivion girl, where've you been hiding? Under a rock or something?"

"Sorry." Lenna answered with an apologetic shrug. "I haven't been in Skyrim for very long and I've only recently arrived in Whiterun."

"So I gather." Athis muttered under his breath as he folded his arms across his chest. "So, what exactly do you know about the Companions?"

"Not much really." There was no point lying about it. "I mean, I overheard some people talking about you all in the Bannered Mare, and then there was this tall woman who spoke to me when I first came to Whiterun. She was one of you I believe. There was this giant, you see, attacking a farm outside..."

"You're the magick user!" The dunmer's slanting brows shot up in surprise. "The Breton girl with the red hair that Farkas was talking about!"

"Farkas?"

"Tall fella, broad shoulders, carries a big sword. If I heard right, he said you stepped in when the giant knocked him on his arse."

Lenna nodded slowly as she recalled a mountain of a man with long, dark hair and arms as thick as her waist. "Yes, I remember him now! There was a woman with him too. Tall, slender with stripes of green war-paint across her face."

"Aela, the Huntress. Yeah, she mentioned to Kodlak that she'd spoken to you." Athis scratched at his beard and then nodded. "Well, that does change things a bit. Best take you down to see the Old Wolf, I think. Let him take a look at you and see what he has to say." Then he paused. "Just try not to destroy anything with those spells of yours, eh?"

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Heh, good." Athis grinned as he led her downstairs towards a thick, wooden door. "The Companions are more tolerant than most folks round here, but magick still makes some of them here a little bit jumpy. They're a superstitious lot, you know!" Opening up the lower area, he gestured for her to go on ahead. "Door at the end of the hall there, luv. Just past the living quarters."

"I see it. Thank you for this."

"Don't mention it, luv and good luck to you."

With that said, the dunmer left her alone with her thoughts and the long walk down the hall to the room of Kodlak Whitemane.

* * *

Lenna's arm was almost torn from its socket as another sword blow landed cleanly and heavily against the boss of her shield.

This was no test.

It was an embarrassment…

"Come on, whelp!" Barked the heavily armoured warrior who seemed intent on ending her hopes before they even got off the ground. "Defend yourself! Do you think your enemies will hesitate to strike you down?"

"Bollocks to that!" She spat as she countered with a clumsy lunge that almost toppled her off balance. "You really expect me to fight like this!" Another blow clattered against the heavy iron shield. "I am a spellsword, damn it! Not a bloody shield-maiden!"

"And I am Vilkas, trainer of the Companions, and I need no magic-tricks!"

The warrior's pale grey eyes were like slivers of granite and with a snarl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, Vilkas swung his glinting steel sword toward her head. Unable to raise the shield high enough to protect herself, Lenna quickly parried the attack with her old, iron blade and managed to turn it aside, before lashing out with a kick aimed toward the warrior's groin.

A kick he easily managed to avoid.

"Whoa, watch out!" Called one of the many onlookers that had gathered to watch. "This one has a little fire in her yet!"

"Be careful, Vilkas." Warned a second, her voice faintly familiar. "It looks like the little vixen is getting annoyed with you!"

Vilkas simply grinned as he manoeuvred himself into position. "Of course she is getting annoyed! This magick-user is no true warrior! She does not even know how to use a shield...!"

Even though she had been watching closely, Lenna was not able to anticipate the brutish overhead swing that Vilkas suddenly executed with startling speed. Her whole body shook as she took the full force of the blow on the side of her shield, wrenching it from her grasp and sending her sprawling to the ground.

"See that!" He said with contempt, stalking toward her like a hungry wolf. "You are now defenceless and at my mercy, whelp. Yield now and give up this madness before you get yourself killed!"

All around her, the assembled warriors of the Companions watched as Vilkas levelled his sword at her exposed throat. Anger and frustration burned inside her as she felt not only their eyes upon her, but the eyes of the one man who could decide her future. Raising her head slightly, she saw Kodlak Whitemane watching with interest. The Old Wolf seemed lost in thought as he considered her predicament and there was something akin to disappointment on his face. The dunmer, Athis, was stood beside him, his red eyes wide and silently urging her to continue, not to give up...

And frankly she had no intention of doing so.

Breathing deeply as magicka began to pulse through her like lifeblood itself, Lenna threw out her hand and hurled white-hot bolts of destructive energy hurtling toward the armoured body of her overly confident aggressor. With a howl of pain, Vilkas was lifted clear off his feet as forks of magickal lightening jumped and arced across his patterned steel breastplate, and he fell backward onto the ground, twitching and jerking as the flickering remnants of the sparks spell rendered him immobile and completely defenceless.

"It is y_ou_ who are now at _my _mercy." Lenna growled, hurling his own words back against him as she climbed to her feet. "Like I said before, I am a Spellsword and magicka is my shield, not some dented hunk of iron! Now I suggest that you yield, unless you wish to feel the sting of my power once more!"

A hush had fallen over the onlookers and Lenna saw a few of them glancing anxiously at one-another as she hovered over Vilkas with her hands wreathed in flickering white light.

"You dare to use such tricks against me!" He spat, trying to raise himself up on his elbows. "You dare to..."

"I think the battle is over, don't you?" Kodlak Whitemane interrupted, a strange smile on his face as he extended a helping hand to his fallen comrade. "Even you have to admit, though lacking certain skills, the girl has the spirit of a warrior and has clearly shown that she is quite capable of defending herself."

Vilkas' face was dark but he nodded respectfully. "She can't use a shield but her swordplay isn't bad. It is maybe something I can work with..."

"Good." Kodlak concluded with a smile. "Then I leave the final decision to you. Either send her away, or train her up. I trust you will make the right decision."

The Old Wolf gave Lenna one last, curious smile and then headed back into the mead hall. Realising the entertainment was done, the rest of the Companions began to disperse with some taking their own places in the practice yard and others sitting down to enjoy a mid-morning meal at one of the nearby tables. A few of them were even exchanging coin, no doubt after betting on the outcome of the fight, and one by one, they all drifted away. All except Athis, the woman with the green stripes across her face identified as Aela and of course Vilkas. He was too busy brushing the dirt from his back and looking at Lenna with an expression that made her feel suddenly very nervous.

"Here." He growled, retrieving his sword and pressing it into her hands. "Take this up to Eorlund Greymane at the Skyforge." He nodded toward the large statue set high on a hill that overshadowed the training yard. "My blade has been dulled and the man works wonders with steel."

The proud warrior abruptly turned from her before she could answer, and then strode toward the mead hall.

"Oh..." He added, pausing at the doors and not even deigning to look at her as she spoke. "And ask him to provide you with a fresh blade for yourself while you're at it. That piece of rusted iron that you carry is no fit weapon for a prospective Companion. Come back afterwards and we'll see about finding you somewhere to sleep."

For a moment Lenna simply stared dumbfounded as she doubted the evidence of her own ears, but then she caught sight of Athis grinning as he elbowed Aela, and the look she was giving her was positively feral!

Excitement knotted her stomach into a hard ball as realisation slowly set in and she couldn't help but smile back at the two warriors in relief.

She had survived her first trial with the Companions.

* * *

The cheers and jeers from his shield-brothers below had almost tempted Farkas away from his duties at the Skyforge to watch as yet another potential recruit was put through their paces, but from the sound of the hammer blows he was raining down on the glowing steel blade upon the anvil, the skysteel was thirsting. Lifting it carefully by the leather-encased hilt, he thrust it down into the deep bucket of cool water at his side causing a plume of scalding steam to rise into the air as the blade was quenched.

"Watch what you're doing, boy!" Eorlund groaned as the skin on Farkas' arms turned an angry shade of red.

"Don't worry, Eorlund." Farkas replied as he stepped out of the cloud and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. "Blade's fine and besides, it didn't hurt all that much anyhow."

The Master Smith simply shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. "You'll never learn the secrets of good smithing unless you learn to listen, boy. Why I offered to train you, Talos only knows."

Farkas grinned as the old man went back to his lathe and resumed sharpening the heavy war axe he had been working on. There was possibly no better smith in the whole of Skyrim than Eorlund Greymane, and certainly not one that could work as skilfully with skysteel, but he was getting grumpy in his old age and had little time for foolishness. He did still have a lot of respect for the Companions though, and as far as Farkas was concerned, that was certainly a blessing. No other smith could ever have taught him with as much patience and dedication as Eorlund, and his own skills with the hammer and anvil were growing daily. Maybe it would be something he could do for coin when his days as warrior were over.

That's if he didn't just throw off his human shape and decide to spend the rest of his days hunting in the forests...

Suddenly he sniffed the air as a vaguely familiar scent caught his attention. Turning slowly, Farkas watched as a girl in battered leathers walked up toward the Skyforge, clutching Vilkas' sword in her arms. She must have been the new recruit as from the way she moved, it looked like his brother had certainly put her through her paces, and he wouldn't have minded betting that every bone in her body was aching right now.

Not that he wouldn't have minded helping her to work out those aches…

"What's this?" Eorlund asked, coming to stand beside him. "Looks like Vilkas has a new whelp, eh?"

"Yeah…" Farkas murmured. "Good lookin' girl too…"

He couldn't help but notice just how well the tight leather fitted over her ample curves and the way the sunlight cast a coppery glow over her tousled auburn hair. Her skin was as pale as mare's milk, which made her darkly red lips seem all the more inviting, and legs were long and shapely and looked as smooth as elven silk.

Then it hit him.

He knew her from somewhere, he was sure of it…

"Eorlund Greymane?" She addressed the old blacksmith, even though her soft green eyes were drawn to the vast expanse of Farkas' bare, muscular chest. "Vilkas said that I was to bring you his sword, and that maybe you could provide me with a new one."

"Did he now?" The old man replied, taking Vilkas' sword from her and casting a critical eye over the blade. "Well, that was very generous of him...wait, are these scorch marks? By Ysgramor's axe, girl! What did you do to it?"

"Nothing directly." She answered, blushing when she realised Farkas had caught her staring at his naked torso. "But I suppose the sparks spell I cast may have affected the metal..."

"It's you!" Farkas exclaimed, finally recognising her. "You're the girl from the farm!"

"Yes, that was me." She answered with more than a little pride. "And you're the one with the broad shoulders...I mean…the tall dark warrior with the big sword…" Now thoroughly embarrassed, the girl rolled her eyes. "Um, sorry. I really should think before I speak."

"Don't worry about it." Farkas answered, smiling broadly as she sought to recover her composure. "I'm always saying stupid stuff and nobody seems to mind."

"I'm not surprised." She murmured, raising her brow mischievously. "I imagine most people are too intimidated by your size to argue with you."

"Aye!" Eorlund agreed as he took Vilkas' sword over to the grindstone. "What Farkas lacks in brains, he more than makes up for with brawn."

"Thanks…" Farkas muttered and then reached for his discarded tunic. "Anyway, you staying or going?"

"Staying, I think." She looked over toward the mead hall. "Vilkas said he was going to find me somewhere to sleep when I get back, although I don't think he was very happy about it."

"My brother just doesn't like having his ass kicked, that's all"

"And how do you know I kicked his arse?"

"You're still here aren't you?"

Farkas grinned as he pulled the tunic over his head and then gathered up the rest of his things. "So…you're Lenna, right?"

"And you're Farkas." She answered, looking at him intently. "You know, you look an awful lot like Vilkas. I take it that he is your _actual _brother?"

"Yeah we're twins, 'cept he's the clever one." He casually ran his hands through his long dark hair, pushing it back off his face. "Skjor says I've got the strength of Ysgramor, and my brother has his smarts."

"Not smart enough to look after his sword…" Eorlund muttered, sparks flying as he touched the edge of the blade to the grindstone. "You treat yours any better, girl?"

Lenna showed the blacksmith an old, iron sword that can't even have been new in the days of the Five Hundred!

"Hmph." He snorted, not even deigning to touch the worn metal. "I wouldn't see my worst enemy fight with that thing. Try one of those…"

He gestured to the stone counter displaying some of his best work, and Lenna looked over the assembled weapons before selecting a finely decorated shortsword.

"How much is this?" She asked, trying a few experimental swings and taking obvious delight in the balance of the blade.

"Seventy septims."

Without hesitation, Lenna pulled a coin purse from her belt and counted out the payment.

"Gods be praised!" Eorlund exclaimed in surprise, and then hurriedly stuffed the gold into his belt before resuming work on Vilkas' longsword without so much as a backward glance.

Farkas had to hand it to him, the old smith certainly had a way with women and paying customers….

"Don't mind him." He said as he watched the girl slide her new weapon into the scabbard at her hip. "Eorlund doesn't like to talk much."

"He's a master at work." She said with a shrug. "My old tutor was the same. Said if I was too busy talking, then I wasn't listening, and if I wasn't listening, then I wasn't learning."

"A wise man." Eorlund agreed under his breath. "Maybe he should teach Farkas here how to smith…"

The girl laughed softly as Farkas groaned and rolled his eyes.

"I think we've all had enough _teaching_ for today, don't you?" He gently lay a hand upon her shoulder and began to guide her back down to Jorrvaskr. "So…_Lenna_. That's not a name from round here, you one of those Imperial types?"

"Actually I'm a Breton." She replied, looking up at him from beneath her sooty black lashes. "I studied spells and swordplay at High Rock before I was…before I left."

"I didn't know wizards knew how to use swords." Farkas' biceps bulged as he feigned a practice swing, and he was pleased to see the admiring glance he received from the girl. "I thought it was all long robes and pointy sticks."

She laughed again at that, a laugh that made her eyes sparkle.

She had real pretty eyes….

"Wizards don't generally use swords." She agreed, stretching out an ache in her shoulders. "But spellswords do, and I always enjoyed that part of my training."

"You must be pretty good at it if you impressed Vilkas. He usually has no time for magick-users."

"So I gathered."

She frowned then, though whether from her aches and pains or from his brother's dislike, he couldn't really tell.

There were still a couple of his shield-companions outside when they reached the mead hall. Skjor was watching Aela practicing her skills with a bow and Torvar was clumsily stabbing away at a practice dummy as if it owed him money. Athis was there too, teaching Ria how best to overcome an opponent armed with mace, though when he spotted Lenna approaching he held up his hand in greeting and the Breton girl enthusiastically waved back.

"You two know each other?" Farkas asked, feeling an unfamiliar prickle of jealousy.

"A recent acquaintance." Lenna answered, ducking inside as he pushed open the doors to Jorrvaskr. "He took me to meet Kodlak this morning."

"You were with _him_ this morning?"

"Only briefly…" She turned to look at him curiously. "We met when I first arrived and he took me to see Kodlak. That's okay isn't it? He's not in any trouble?"

"Yeah…I mean no, he's not in any trouble."

"Ah…I see. That's alright then."

Farkas shifted uncomfortably and tried not to notice the amused look in the girl's eyes. He didn't generally get like this around women, so what the hells was wrong with him…?

Feeling more than a little sheepish, he said nothing further as he led her down into the sleeping quarters. The beds there were simple pallets of straw covered with hides, not like the soft mattresses found in the local inns and taverns, but to a warrior pushed to the limits of his strength it was like sleeping in the bed of the High-King. As was to be expected, most of them were empty as their owners were either training or out completing contracts, but after being put through her paces by Vilkas, Farkas had no doubt that the girl would be glad of the warm straw and woollen blankets.

"Is this where I'll be sleeping?" She asked as if sensing his thoughts.

"Yeah." He replied, gesturing to bed beside an empty chest. "I'll check with Vilkas, but I think that one is free. You can leave your stuff here too. No one will steal from you in Jorrvaskr."

She nodded, then looked around. "And which bed is yours?"

"I don't sleep here." Farkas said as he led her to the rooms reserved for Circle members. "My room is just there if you want me…want anything from me…work…ah, you know what I mean."

"I think I understand." She cut in, mercifully saving him from saying anything else that made him sound like an idiot. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Lenna's first response was an angry rumble from her stomach followed by a nervous laugh. "Please excuse me. I'm _so_ sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Farkas chuckled as she sought to hide her embarrassment behind her hands. "The kitchens are upstairs. Speak with Tilma, the housekeeper, and she'll fix you up with something to eat. Sounds like you need it."

"After spending the morning fending off your brother's attack, I could eat a horse!" She stretched out her aching muscles once more and then winced. "Not to mention, I feel like I want to sleep for a week!"

"Then you better get some rest while you can. The services of the Companions are always in demand and I can already think of one or two things that might suit you down to the ground. Best you be prepared."

"I'll be ready." She said with a smile and then retreated back through the living quarters and disappeared upstairs.

Farkas watched her leaving with interest. Normally when a pretty girl caught his eye, all he was interested in was seeing her naked and bedding her as quickly as possible. Lenna certainly ticked all the boxes with her coppery hair and plump curves in all the right places, and she also had an inner strength that shone through her eyes when she smiled.

But there was something else too…

Something that his other senses picked up on. Something that interested the wolf within…

"Farkas!" Vilkas' stern voice disturbed him from his thoughts and he turned to see his brother standing in the doorway to Kodlak's study. "If you're not too busy mooning after the magick-user, the Old Wolf would like to speak with you."

"Yes brother."

He didn't need to be a mind reader to figure out that his brother was in bad mood, but then again he always seemed to be lately after talking with Kodlak. More often than not, the two of them had been having long conversations that ran late into the night and whenever Farkas asked about it, Vilkas would just shrug and say that it was none of his concern. At first he thought it was about the Old Wolf's request that they resist the urge to change, but apparently there was more to it than that.

Ah well.

If it was really that important, then Vilkas probably would have told him. His twin may have been as close to the old man as a son, but he was blood-brother to Farkas. Nothing would ever come between them.

Most likely, right now Kodlak wanted to see him about Lenna.

Vilkas may not have been too happy about accepting the spellsword, but he would be responsible for her training and no doubt Kodlak would have reminded him of that. As a fellow member of the Circle, Farkas was also one of those responsible for seeing that she earned her keep and was sent out on jobs that brought honour as well as coin to the Companions. The Old Wolf probably just wanted to make sure they were both going to look after her as much as they would any other new member.

As far as Farkas was concerned, he didn't need to worry. It was good to have a fresh face around the place, especially one with such full lips and expressive eyes.

And looking after her for a while…well, it was hardly going to be a chore.

* * *

_Farkas' stats suggest he has 100 in blacksmithing. Not sure why or how much use that could ever been in game, but I figured it gave him a hobby for my fic and an excuse for Lenna to see him without his top on!_

_Thank you for your patience and for all the favourites, reviews and encouragement._

_Quin xXx_


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